The Place Between
by lostladyknight
Summary: Not quite asleep nor awake Catherine doesn't feel quite so far away from Warrick.


**A/N **So I've decided to come out of my hiatus though I lied and said that I would be gone forever. I'm coming back out of my retirement because I wanted to partake in this week's FCG (Fanfiction Critique Group linked in my profile) challenge. I thought that this week's was one of the best challenges I've ever been asked to participate in... though I'm not sure my piece is the most amazing result.

Anyway... so I'm back. This piece is written in true tone of my original fashion. It's the reason I fell in love with CSI and fanfiction in general. Yobling. My first adventure back into this saddle in over a year. I hope you're pleased.

Dedicated to a few incredible women: _Amanda_ for testing my dedication on more than one occasion. _Kaz _for supporting me evenwhen I wasn't supporting myself._ Jodie_ for believing in me when nobody else did. _Hanna_ for being my friend even when I didn't deserve it. But most importantly to Y_oblingdramonielover_ for requesting this every couple of months like clockwork for the last year. I promised you that I'd deliver and I finally have. I hope it was worth the wait.

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The Place Between

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She was in that place between asleep and awake and it was the only place where she could still hear his voice.

Where the husky words that used to fall away from him were vivid in her mind. She could still feel the tingle that his voice would send up her spine. The way he would tell her about his day, getting animated when he talked about the good and the bad. The sound of his voice lowering when he was feeling intimate or the way it got faster when he was angry about something. The way the slightest of the pitches and tones he used when they were alone could give her an idea of what kind of night they would have together; if he would be rough or tender.

It was a little more than that. It was the way she could be walking through the lab, struggling with a case, having a hard time with a murder, and then she'd hear his voice and smile. She wouldn't even have to be in the same room with him to feel giddy at the knowledge he was around her. And then there was the way a roll of his laughter seemed to be like the sun shining on a rainy day. The way his voice climbed into a yell made her hair stand on end and sent tingles down her spine.

The way other little sounds he'd make had a habit of making her heart skip a beat. How the sound of him playing the piano could take her breath away. Or the way he'd sing along with music in the car, occasionally taking her hand and serenading her. The way every note that came from him--the very heart of his life--music, speech, breath could be absolute romance.

She would never get to hear him again.

But for right now, she was in the place between asleep and awake and it was the only place where she could still feel his touch.

She tucked the sheet closer around her, feeling as it fell over her body. She felt it graze her bare ankles and remembered the way his warm hands used to hold them as he rubbed the day's stress away from her feet. Moving closer to slumber, she felt his hands slowly start to crawl up her leg—firm fingers pressing into the muscle of her calf, crawling up towards her thigh. It was the way he felt--his skin, warm, soft, dark against hers. Every touch was gentle, though strength and sheer force pulsed through every muscle on his body. His lips fell on her milk white skin and brought a red blush out no matter how hard she fought it.

She felt again the way his arms would wrap around her at the end of the day, an inescapable trap if she'd ever thought to get away. He was holding her, listening quietly and dropping the occasional kiss on the back of her neck, as she childishly told him every detail of her day. He shook behind her as he laughed at a joke she recounted to him and held her more tightly when she whispered about a close call at a scene.

Though the room was chilled she didn't feel cold, instead she felt his body and warmth tucked next to her. The chill that ran up and down her spine wasn't from the pumping air conditioner, but from him being so close. It was the way it always had been ever since the very first touch of him she'd ever felt on her skin.

She would never get to touch him again.

But for right now she was in the place between asleep and awake and it was the only place where she could still see his beauty.

Her longing eyes never left him as he got up and walked across the room, flipping on the light gently as he stepped into the bathroom—the illusion growing all the more real. She watched his shadow dance in the light below the door and couldn't hold back the sheepish grin as she saw the shaded tan of his feet come into view. A moment later, he reappeared from the bathroom, clad in only a pair of jeans. A six pack stacked in perfect muscular form as he slowly made his way back across the room to lay next to her again.

She memorized the tan pattern of the arm that wrapped around her again, even though she'd studied it a thousand times before. The way the skin on his hands was just a bit darker and how he was a few shades lighter at the inside of his arms than he was on the outside. She was even familiar with the smooth pattern of the hair on his arm. She knew every other inch of his skin too—his lips and the way they pouted from time to time. The way they looked when they were centimeters away from her own. The way they twisted and bent when he smiled, or the way they grew thin when he focused on something.

And those eyes!

The way they glowed an emerald green when he was happy. The way the shade diluted when he was tired. The vibrant bright shade they tended to take on when he wanted her. The way they told her every feeling he ever had and the way they seemed to follow her every step she ever made.

She was intoxicated by the way they seemed to overpower her. How they always had, from the very first time she noticed them. She was drawn by the way they seemed to change visibly when she was around. It was a high for her when she realized how truly beautiful he thought she was.

Of every inch that she knew of him. Of every speck of his body she'd grown familiar with in the years. The degree on an escalating scale every time she'd been given the chance to explore him... it was those eyes that remained the most thrilling.

She would never see those eyes again.

But she was in that place between asleep in awake and it was the only place where she could still taste the many flavors of him.

He pulled her towards him, no longer willing to lay idly by. He pressed his lips to hers and she was overwhelmed by his taste again. Peppermint with the unmistakable traces of vodka and garlic. His favorite treat. His drink of choice on his night's off. And the favorite cooking ingredient he'd inherited from his grandmother.

And the tastes he would prepare for her. A romantic evening he'd surprised her with that had turned into a Wednesday evening ritual. The way she'd come home to a meal spread out on the table. Candle lit when it was just the two of them; a deck of cards at the ready for a night of laughing and games when Lindsey was there with them. The way he'd reproduce his grandmother's cooking for her. Proud as a schoolchild when a recipe or dish turned out the way he'd planned.

Though, there was so much more of him to taste than just that. The way his lips sometimes tasted of cherry chap stick, though he denied ever wearing it. Or the way the crook of his neck frequently felt salty from the exhilaration of a hard day of work. Sometimes he'd let her taste one of his meals from the tip of his finger and then she'd get a glimpse of the sugar that frequently lingered there from his favorite sweets--ginger cookies from the bakery thee blocks from her house. Something he sampled when he thought nobody was looking.

She would never get to taste him again.

But she was in the place between asleep and awake and it was the only place where she could still smell the beautiful scents of him.

Drifting closer towards sleep, she wafted in a breath of his scent. The smell of stale sweat mixed with a splash of aftershave that had worn off after a full day of work and play. The way he lingered there in the bed beside her long after he'd gone. It was an overpowering thing that would overcome her when she would walk into her closet at any given hour of the day and breathe him in... so many of his shirts and other clothing had been abandoned at her home in a haste.

Sometimes at work he would walk past her while she was occupied in one manner or another. She wouldn't bother to look up and see who'd come into the room, thinking it wasn't anyone important. But then she'd smell the leathery waft of his thick jacket or the trail of soap that would float in his wake. Even in the time when he wasn't hers—when she or he were married—she'd still freeze and breathe in and out slowly, trying to take in every gasp of him that she could before he passed out of the room. She would suck in slowly, studying every molecule like a hungry dog searching for its next meal.

All of the physical traces of him were slowly fading away from her as his scent still pressed closer, lingering more powerfully than any of the other senses she had encountered. She grew more weary and rolled over, nestling into a pillow, and was given another breath of him. It was fading by the day but still gave her a warmth that she couldn't find anywhere else. She passed further from the place between and more into sleep. The stiff scent of him made her give a silent plea that he would visit her in her dreams.

She would never get to smell him again.

The place between asleep and awake would always be there to remind her of all of the beautiful things that he had been, but in the end she would have to spend dreamless nights and an eternity of days without him. He was gone and though traces of him clung to her memory, she would still have to face each day without him. It was surreal how little life and death seemed to matter to her when she realized the sheer amount of love she felt for him and that he had felt for her.

The decade he'd spent in her life, both as hers and not, seemed like so little. No matter how short, no matter how little, it had still had a profound effect on her life. It had made her more what she was than the passing of any other person in her life. But now he was gone, and she was starting to lose her grip on who she was. How did she exist without him?

But for right then, she was in the place between asleep and awake and she was with him.

.:End:.

Penned by Lostladyknight in the week of November 9th, 2008.

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_The Challenge_: 1. Must appeal to one of the five senses. Pick one and cater to it while you write. 2. It must be about the end of any type of relationship. 3. Must follow the theme of passion (interpret as you will). 4. Must be a minimum rating of PG 13. 5. Must be Between 500 and 2,500 words.


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